alleyway fiasco
by morgn
Summary: Why didn't you scream? ...should I have? ...yeah, you should've.
1. one

A swift kick is sent to the water tower as he marches along the rooftop, his shivering fingers pushed deep into the confines of his brother's winter coat. The air bites at his skin, and he's leaving trails of white air after him.

Mikey isn't fond of winter, nor is his family. But, thanks to the echoed shouts he could hear from his room, he sacrifices his warm bed for the cold outdoors. His large feet skim across the gravel, and his head hangs low beneath his hood. It's become a habit now, to hide his face, in case anyone notices his features. He isn't even all that surprised when people scream.

The echoes of his brothers angry words batter his mind once more, and he's lost count of how many times he's heard the screamed insults that night. It's getting worse, he knows this. His family's breaking apart, crumbling beneath their toes, and Mikey's latching onto the side, begging for them to stop screaming and start working.

His Sensei meditates to get rid of his son's screaming competitions, and Mikey wishes he had the concentration to follow suit. But he stays holed up in his room, large digits pounding against game controller buttons in an attempt to distract his mind.

The first few slender white flakes of snow come down around his body, and at best, his mouth pulls into a smile. Snow was the only reason Mikey liked winter, because it was so pure in itself, and it also seemed to catch his brother, Leo's, attention even more than his whenever he looked through the grated windows of their home.

Bright blue eyes scan across the rooftops a he comes to a stop at the edge of the building. he sniffs, both because of the cold and different memories of fifteen-year-old boys flipping across gaps between the tightly compacted buildings of New York city.

The familiar grin pulls onto his mouth as he jogs back slightly, enough to get a running start. His body soon launches itself forwards, and he's thankful for the speed that accompanies his short stature.

Soon, weightlessness brings a laugh of excitement as his body goes flying across the gap between the buildings. A whoop escapes his mouth, and though the air is cold and his feet sting from the impact of the stones on the other rooftop, he can't seem to rid himself of his giggles. He stands eagerly, and he swears, it's his first night on the buildings of new york, back when he was fifteen. His brother's aren't fighting, there are enemies to fight and he's _happy._

He sets off at a running speed, glad to feel the air bite into his skin. The hood falls down from the rush of wind, and bright blue eyes are shining as his large fists battle with the barrier of the wind. He's zipping over skylights, bouncing off of upper floors.

The memory of his brothers yelling has faded into a forgotten memory.

His hands grip onto a jutted-out pipe, and he swings his body forwards across the gap between the two buildings, a series of tumbles following soon after. A sound twigs his ears.

He figures it was the pipe he'd possibly just ripped from it's concrete cavern, but it lies motionless where his feet had stood moments ago. His brow draws together, a bundle of confusion present on his face.

The scrape of a pipe against concrete is what makes his eyes turn downwards. Tentatively, he steps forwards, curiosity pulled with warm fingers. He feels his eyes roll as he surveys the situation.

He admits, the purple dragon have grown in numbers and in muscle over the years they'd been running the streets of New York when he was younger. So, as the leader, who Mikey regrettably knew intimately, drew the pipe upwards into his skinny fingers, Mikey scaled down the fire escapes that littered the side of the building. He pulls the hood over his head.

The leader, Fong, is almost ecstatic with pure glee as he watches the cowering figure at his boots. Though, usually accompanied with a butcher's knife, he figures the rusted, silver pipe will make an excellent use for a threat.

He nudges the quivering body, and a whimper escapes the mess of quivering nerves, hidden beneath the hood and layers of clothes. Mikey's eyes widen as he realizes it was a feminine whimper.

A cruel laugh escapes the man, and he prods upwards into her stomach, before his hand quickly snaps forwards and grips the long sweater that's wrapped around her body. A shriek escapes her, and she's ripped forwards, only to be flung to the ground behind him. The hood comes loose over her head and Fong takes this as a chance to stride forwards and dig a hand into the brown locks, ripping her head upwards and close to his own.

Brown eyes, framed by thick, dark lashes, fill with pained tears, and as the sharp end of the pipe touches against her throat, a gurgled breath escapes her.

"Shh," he coos, tapping the metal against the raw, red skin of her neck. A sick smile pulls at his mouth as the rest of his gang drop their bodies from the top of the garbage dumpster, tired of watching. "I'm not gonna' hurt ya, princess. Don't cry, you'll ruin your make-up, huh?"

His thick eyebrows pull upwards, as if it were a suggestion instead of a veiled threat. A few chuckles escape the group of giants as he grins. A surge of rage touches Mikey's veins, but he physically has to whisper that this isn't him.

Mikey isn't any girl's knight, he's a mutant turtle trained in ninjitsu. Scars litter his body, and his skin is green, not a dark tan. The thought brings a wave of sadness, before he turns his attention to the scene at hand again.

Fong's grin widens, and he pushes the girl to her knees again, still facing away from him with the pipe prodding her throat. Tears have cascaded down her cheeks. His hand grips her hair tighter. "But...there is something I'll want with you, and if you fight, you'll be leaving with a couple of scars tonight."

Mikey's brow raises in horror, as well as the girl's, and he doesn't realize he's launched a shuriken across the darkened alley until Fong screeches and collapses on the ground, the three-pronged star still embedded in his hand that held the pipe.

"Time to go to work," his breath leaves a white puff where he once stood, and pained grunts are escaping the group of purple dragons. The girl drops forwards, a sob ripping from the confines of her dry throat, and she scurries forwards towards the mouth of the alley. His skin is froze and blood drips from open wounds from being flung onto the ground. But, she can't move until she see's the end of the fight.

Mikey's a master of the shadows, and as a fist, with a dragon's tail curling around the wrist, comes towards his shoulder, his right leg snaps up and into an already crooked nose. A shout of pain escapes him, and Mikey launches himself over him, using his shoulders as a launch pad for his hands.

The fight is over quicker than Mikey expected, and he blames it on the rage at the words his brothers had screamed at each other an hour ago. His knuckles are torn with cuts and a bruise is forming under his left eye, along with a few along his arms and legs.

He's about the pull himself up to the first level of the fire escape, when soft footsteps twig onto his ears. His gaze turns towards the mouth of the alley, and the girl is leaning down, her beanie between shaking and bloodied fingers. She's holding the shuriken to eye-level, almost in awe of the weapon on her slender digits. He notices a bruise touches the bone of her cheek, and there's a slight cut from where the pipe dug too deep into her neck. He doesn't know if there are anymore battle wounds on her skin.

He doesn't know he's watching her until her small size has appeared in front of him, making his eyes widen as he stumbled back. Her own round with surprise and she puts a palm out. "W_-_Wait! Hey!"

A soft, British accent touches her words, a ringing left when she pronounces a word with a 't' in it's structure. Mikey obeys, and though he knows she can't see him, he's scared she still does.

If she does, she doesn't let on. Her eyes narrow, as if trying to see something far away without glasses. He takes another slow step back, before her hand is sticking out before him. She's holding the shuriken, jiggling it after a few moments of his hesitation to take it. Her finger's are covered in the blood, but she hardly seems to care.

A gasp escapes her when he whips the weapon from her fingers. She looks almost disappointed, but Mikey blames it on the rush of adrenaline that clouds his mind. Her mouth opens and Mikey realizes shes going to talk, so he shoots up across the fire escape and climbs his body up, swinging onto the gravel of the roof.

He looks down momentarily to find the girl still staring at where he stood, and he wonders if she thinks he's still there. She shakes her head and pulls the beanie onto her bloodied mess of dark hair, her arms winding around herself and she shuffles out of the alley. Mikey turns and walks straight home.


	2. two

He returns to a strangely quiet household. He's almost shocked, until he notices the time on the clock that overhangs the doorway of the lair. He shrugs off the coat, and winces at both the pain and the fact he's ripped his brother's coat. He sighs tiredly.

His body sags across the room towards his room, when he hears someone clear their throat. He winces again and turns gently, noticing Leo stood next to the door of the kitchen, a drink between his three-fingered hand. Without his mask, he looks almost naked, but he doesn't seem to care as he raises his brow at his little brother.

"Mikey," the chord in his voice is an almost warning, and he knows Leo's seen his bruises and cuts. Another sigh pulls from his mouth, and dropping his head like a scolded child, he moves towards his eldest brother.

The sharp drop of the cup can be heard onto one of the turnstiles, and calloused fingers take his brother's face into them. He pulls his face upwards, and winces at the cuts and bruises he can see already, dancing across the contours of his skin. A nasty one has formed beneath the fabric of his worn, orange mask. When Mikey see's Leo's obvious shock and confusion, he pulls back.

His head turns downwards and his thumbs hook into his belt. "Don't tell sensei."

"He's going to see eventually. Mikey, what did you do to yourself?"

He shrugged. "I got in a fight. It's more than what I've been doing lately, right?"

An accusing glance is sent towards his older brother, and his mouth sets into a firm line. He almost glares, and Mikey flinches under his gaze. "Mikey, this is irresponsible and unnecessary of you. I know you like to go out at night, but if this is what you're doing, I'm afraid I-"

Suddenly, there's a fire behind Mikey's eyes. It takes a lot to get the youngest of the Hamato household angry and it's rare to do so, but Mikey is a force to be reckoned with when angry. He glares at Leo. "I don't _like_ it, I do it to get away from the shouting! The fighting! All you guys ever do, Raph, you, and Donnie, all you ever do is scream at each other! And then when I try to stop it, I either get yelled at, or told I'm too young to understand!"

Leo's leaning back as Mikey's words catch more volume. His little brother's mouth has turned from a smile to a snarl in the last few years, and right now, it's more of a snarl than ever. "Well guess what? I'm the same age! I can understand things just as much as you guys can, if you let me! Sensei says we should treat family like we treat what we love, but right now, I'm beginning to think no-one has anything to love in this family!"

Behind Mikey, Donnie has wandered out of his room, clutching his mask in his hands tiredly. For once, he isn't locked away in his lab. Brown eyes turn towards Mikey, whose hands are flying everywhere as he screams at Leo, who looks morally shocked at his brother.

Mikey's run out of steam now, and as he steps back, his chest is heaving, and tears are evident in his eyes. His left hand is gripping the bloodied shuriken he'd carried home, and he turns, tucking it into a pocket on his belt. He drags a hand across his eyes, ignoring the pain of poking at the bruises.

"I can help if you guys let me, Leo. I'm tired of being the baby." Tiredly, he moves towards the bedroom's, and winces when Donnie catches his arm. Brown eyes stare down at him with worry, and he slowly pushes his hand off his bicep. "I'll see you in the morning, D."

It isn't long before there's the click of his door, and Donnie turns on Leo. The leader of their team, their family, apart from their sensei. He jumps the few steps and strides up to him, before angrily gripping the front of his plastron. Though his older brother is more muscled than him, his height gives him an advantage. "What did you do to Mikey?"

His answer is a glare, and Leo bending his fingers back off of his plastron. A hiss of pain pulls from between his lips as his knuckles crack under the pressure. Not enough to break or sprain, but enough to teach Donnie not to grab him like that.

"Don't start ragging on me, Donnie. He comes back in bruises and cuts, what do you think I'm gonna do? I had a look and said he shouldn't be going out and getting hurt like that! Who knows what-"

"Raph does it. It's because he's the youngest, isn't it? Big brother Leo is scared to let his little brother fight for himself."

"You saw how hurt he is! Do you really think that it's good for him to get hurt like that!?" Leo sends him an incredulous look as Donnie massages his fingers.

"No, in my opinion, it's not. But this is the first time he's come home like this. And you have no right to tell him what he can or can't do!" Donnie's glaring now as the volume reaches higher, but Leo doesn't back down from Donnie. He's had enough fights with him now to know how to knock him down a peg.

"I'm not telling him what he can or can't do!"

"Well it sure looked like it!"

They're both breathing heavily by now as their eyes narrow. Donnie's towering over Leo, but Leo is making himself broader, trying to appear threatening.

"He's _my_ little brother, Donnie. I'm not letting him come home like that, even if this was the first time," before Donnie can interject, Leo scoops up his warm drink into his shaking hands from the weather outside, and shoulders past his brother. Donnie glares as he goes past. "Get to bed, we have training tomorrow."

Donnie lifts two large fingers just above his eyes. "Yes sir," he mutters sarcastically to Leo's retreating shell, saluting as he goes through the door before ambling off towards the kitchen, muttering crude things about his older brother in another language.

Back in his room, Mikey flinches as he hears Leo's door slam against the splintering wood of his door frame. His head is in his hands, mask discarded across the wheel of his skateboard next to his bed. He's tired. So tired.

He tries to stop the first few tears, before wiping his eyes and curling up into his bed. He knocks out almost instantly, digging his hand under the pillow to grip at the soft, worn toy from his childhood, hidden in case Raph played a cruel joke with it in the night.

The next day, he isn't lucky enough to survive the stares from his brother's when he shuffles into the kitchen and prepares breakfast, just before Raph. He works quietly, though he notices the obvious divide between both Donnie and Leo, guilt eating at his lungs about the fight the night before. As he places the plates in front of his family, tired thank you's escaping them, he hears Raph let out a low whistle.

"Damn, Mikey, what happened to you!?" His eyes are wide, but in a way, Mikey can see an almost pride for him in the green orbs. Bruises mark Raph's own skin, but they've become an extension of his emerald skin.

His younger brother shrugged, and before Raph could question more, a swift elbow to his side wounded him from speaking. Donnie smiled gently. "Hey Mikey, I was wondering if you wanted to come on a recon mission tonight, with me?"

"Mikey's not going anywhere with you Donnie," Leo sang, scooping a mouthful of scrambled eggs into his mouth, turning his head away as Donnie ground his teeth. Mikey sighed sadly. He missed his brothers.

Raph chuckled, spearing a stray piece of scrambled egg onto his fork. "What bit you two in the ass? Huh?" The two don't respond, merely glaring at each other. They hardly notice the youngest brother slipping through the kitchen door and making his way back to his room to distract himself with another game.

It isn't long before he's cornered by Raph in the chill out area of their home, after a gruelling training session with Master Splinter. It takes his brother a few beats before he dares to ask, "Where'd you get the bruises and cuts?"

He's quiet, which makes Mikey all the more guilty for bluntly replying, "I got beat up."

Raph nods, showing he's actually listening. Then he turns to him. "You're not happy, Mikey," he doesn't sound shocked or sad, he sound almost offended if anything. He turns to him fully, and snatches the remote out of his brother's hand and turns the TV off. Mikey doesn't complain. "Why aren't you happy?"

A snort escapes him. "You just noticed?"

Raph sets his mouth into a firm line, and Mikey recalls the fight with Leo at half two in the morning. "Don't do that. Don't act as if you being unhappy is normal. It's never been normal, and...in these past few months, you've stopped being you. I want my baby brother back."

Mikey winces. The last sentence takes on a sad tone, and he doesn't know if Raph will. "Raph...I want my family back. You guys fight all the time, and it's hard to stay happy when the people you love aren't."

"You've turned into me at fifteen."

"Yeah, I have."

Raph sighs, leaning his head back and dabbing a towel across his sweaty face. Mikey pulls his knees upwards, and folds them beneath his arms. Suddenly, Raph stands, and pats his brother's head. "Don't stay that way, bro. I want Mikey back. Also, instead of you going out and getting yourself hurt, you know, being rusty and all," he winks at his brother, and Mikey finds a smile touching his mouth. "How about we go out a couple of nights and beat up some dragons?"

The orange-clad turtle grins, and the light is back in his eyes. Raph doesn't want to fix him, or monitor him, he wants to bring him back. And Mikey's glad he has Raph for that. "Sure."


	3. three

The following weeks weren't spared of any arguments, though they were shorter than the ones they had followed. He isn't spared any worried looks, as well as from Master splinter, who doesn't pry. April dipped her head into the lair one day, and ultimately fussed over Mikey.

"Mikey! What did you do, oh my god..." Her arms wound around his shoulders and had brought him into a hug as soon as she'd seen him. He'd given her a grin as he hugged her back, glad to have some other contact other than his bickering family.

Still, after the weeks of keeping himself in the lair during the arguments so his brothers wouldn't worry, he'd had enough of the fights. So, in the early hours of the morning, with nervousness and anxiousness creeping across his abdomen, he shrugged on a winter jacket and disappeared outside, a happy smile touching his mouth when his feet touched the snow peppered ground.

He made his way to the rooftops of the concrete city easily, and pulled the hood up once again. His brother's had fought deep into the night, only silencing when their Sensei had padded hi way into the room, requesting silence so he could sleep. None had realized how late they had fought. Mikey was just thankful no-one had thrown a punch.

He isn't aware of the wooden board that's lifted above his head in the alleyway, as he went to move back down into the sewers after the night of peacefulness, and he groans as he hits the ground. Crude laughter erupts behind him. Two or three more others have watched the attack.

A foot jabs into his hip, and he's temporarily knocked out by the force of the hit. "Oi, look at this! I knew these things existed!"

He can hear them, he can feel fingers prodding at his chest and skin. He tries not to squirm, tries not to kick out and run. He wasn't meant to be seen, he wasn't meant to be seen...

"What should we do with it?"

"What if you killed it, dude?"

"I didn't kill it, it's breathing, 'ent it!?"

"Looks it...dare you to give it CPR if it _is_ dead, man."

"Dude, hell no! Diseases or something, I'm not getting that!" Mikey couldn't stop the groan that escaped his mouth as he started to move. The group of boys jumped back in shock and fright at the sight of him moving. The tallest of the three turned to the one just over his shoulder. "Dude, go hit it again," he whispered, nudging his head towards Mikey.

The shorter's eyes widened. "Dude, it's awake now! If that didn't knock it out, doing it again won't!"

"Matt," the tallest swipes the board from the second tallest to the shortest, and narrows his eyes. "_You_ go hit it."

The shortest stared wide-eyed, his scrawny body shivering from fright and the cold. He gripped the board and soon nodded, his willingness being followed with grins and a push forwards. he sighed shakily, before his thin fingers lifted the wooden board over his head.

"Hey!" Matt stops, pausing in mid swing on Mikey's head as he surveys the shadow. Being about a foot shorter than the figure, his eyes widened and he dropped the board in the snow, scampering off down the alley with the other two as the figure jogged down the alleyway.

A bag bounced across her shoulder, and her eyes glared as the group of middle-schoolers retreated into the darkness of the alley. She almost didn't see Mikey, slumped in the snow.

Her knees dug into the snow at his hip. Mikey had only opened his eyes for a short amount of time before the pain had attacked his mind once again, and he slumped back into the snow again.

Brown eyes stared with worry, her eyes rounding with shock as she looked at the bottom part of his body. Thick, green legs sprouted from beneath the thick winter coat, and the hint of a worn, leather belt could be seen from beneath the fabric.

Curiosity made her move forwards, slipping a hand into the hood, and gently moving it off his face, gave a small squeak of shock. The fact he was a turtle came after the initial shock of seeing how beat up he was, covered in fading cuts and bruises. Some tinged yellow around the edges, but looked like they were getting better.

She sat there for a while, her fingers combing across the snow at her knees in thought. She'd heard of the rise of new york mutants, but she never thought she'd rescue one from a beating with a wooden board. Her fingers tugged her beanie lower down, and she jumped when Mikey moved to get up. Her fingertips pushed against his shoulder to sit him back, and she felt him shiver gently.

The girl looked around helplessly, before giving a frustrated sigh and wound a hand under Mikey's arm. He groaned again and his fingers danced across the nape of his neck, as if that'd stop the pain.

She was alright until Mikey leaned his weight on her, and she lost her footing. She stumbled slightly before her fingers latched onto the crumbling wall. Steadying herself under his weight, she moved forwards slowly. Her arm wrapped around what she could find of his waist.

In a way, she was thankful she'd heard the fight from her fire escape just above, but it was also one of the top floors of her apartment complex. She turned to him as she pulled them across the snow, "Can you walk?" her reply was a gurgled moan of pain.

With great difficulty, she pulled them both up the fire escapes, scurrying quicker whenever someone from the lower floors came close to exiting through the fire escape, and pulled them into her apartment. Mikey soon found himself on the couch, his head lowered into a pillow and sleep enveloped him.

Mikey awoke to a wet towel pressed to his shoulder. He groggily brought himself up, only to hiss at the pounding headache that attacked his mind.

"Aw dude, what happened?" he leaned forwards and pressed his forehead into his hands, surprised at the feeling of pain that had bloomed at the nape of his neck.

"You got beat up."

He visibly jumps at the blunt reply to his rhetorical question. His body turns swiftly to find the girl pulling the rag from his shoulder, spots of blood touching the cloth. He debates whether throwing a smoke bomb, but decides against it.

She blinks. Mikey blinks. Then, he's suddenly throwing himself over the back of the couch, only for his feet to land on a table scattering with papers and a house phone. A surprised yelp pulls from his throat as his body looses it's balance and falls, only for him to land on his feet with a hiss.

Her eyes widen with alarm and she jumped upwards, skidding in front o him as he scrambles upwards. "Hey! Hey! Whoa! Calm it down!"

Mikey's chest is heaving. No-one's meant to see them, or know of their existence. _His_ existence. H's watching her with wary eyes, whilst hers only display an unusual amount of sympathy for him, as well as astonishment.

He complies, and lets her lead him back to where he'd been sat before. Slowly, as if she thought she'd frighten him, she lowers herself next o him, and presses the cloth to his shoulder again tentatively.

His eyes are narrowed on her, waiting for this to either be a dream or for the police to burst into the room. But her face doesn't fade like washed away water, and the outside is quiet for a few dogs barking. He winces as she presses harder.

"Why didn't you scream?"

She looks up from where she's dragging the cloth along his collarbone, and he notices she's eerily close. She blinks. "...should I have?"

A wave of bewilderment touches him. He wasn't used to this. "Yeah, you should've."

He notices she shrugs, and returns back to her work on a stubborn spot of blood. He goes to push her hand away and stand when she whispers, "are there more of you?"

"Can't answer that, dude." She nodded to his answer, and twirled her index finger, gesturing for him to turn. After a moment of hesitation, he did so, wincing as the cloth pressed against the main gash on his body for the night.

"Sorry," she apologized, and followed after, "you got a name?"

"Mikey," he muttered, looking down at his bruised fingers with a small smirk. "What about you?"

She pondered on this, swiping across the cut, before holding up her index finger in his peripheral vision, and discarded the thick sweater that adorned her body, leaving her in a black vest top. She dug a hand into her hair to throw it over her shoulder, and answered, "Shiloh. It's easier to call me Shy, though."

"You're not acting very shy now," he answered, chuckling at the small joke to her dancing fingers.

He winced as she applied pressure again to the cut, and continued. "How'd you get these cuts, Mikey?"

"You probably know," he'd had an idea that she was the girl from the alley from the moment he'd seen her, and it was only likely she'd shared the same idea of him. Bruises still touched both their skin, though they'd faded into the contours of their faces. He saw as she gave a nod, and retrieved medical tape and plasters from the table beneath the couch.

She started to cover the cuts that had appeared from the wooden board slamming across the back of his head, splintering cuts and gashes into the backs of his shoulders, as well as a few shavings from the wood embedding themselves into his skin. She set to work with patching up the biggest cut across the back of his neck, before gently whispering, as if to herself, like the turtle in question was a conundrum she couldn't crack, "why aren't you happy?"

The question made him flinch, bringing back the day after he'd saved her, the talk he'd had with Raph, a few weeks ago. He looked over his shoulder, and smirked gently. "That's a little personal, isn't it, Shy?"

He blinks when he hears her laugh, startled by the sound. "I'm a personal person Mikey, but, you don't have to tell me. By the way, thank you," she answers, and he could hear the snap of the medical tape as she finished patching up the first cut.


	4. four

His hand went to his neck once she'd finished with him. He's surprised at how well she knows how to bandage cuts, but when he's turned to thank her, she's moved from her seat. She silently moves her way to the small kitchen to his left. As she moved about silently, he studied where he was.

He knew from his subconscious state that he'd been dragged over the fire escape, which he could see from the large windows behind the TV and coffee table. Behind him, the table sat, and the front door that blocked the entrance to the rest of the building. Across the room, pressed against the wall, at the end of the kitchen, was a table with about six chairs rounding it. To his right, a few steps led into a separate hallway, from where he could only see a few rooms along the wall. Paintings and pictures decorated the walls of her home.

"Mikey," she called, breaking him out of his trance. "D'ya want something to eat?"

Suddenly, he realized how hungry he was, and he gave an enthusiastic nod, feeling a smile tug at his mouth when she grinned. He sat on one of the stools next to the counter, watching her as she spun a dial on her microwave.

"Shy?" he asked, continuing when he received a hum to tell him to go on. "Why...why'd you do that? Take care of me?"

The question hung in the air between them for a while, before she gave a shrug, and turned back to the food she was making. "I dunno, you were hurt and I recognized you in a way, from that alleyway fiasco a couple weeks back, I guess, so...it was on impulse, Mike, don't read into it," she said, sending him a smile. He felt a prodding on his fingers, and blue eyes turned downwards to find her pushing a plate with a slice of pizza on it on it, moving to take her own. Thanking her with a grin, he took it and followed her to the couch.

"Do you always take in hurt mutants, or am I just special?" he asked jokingly, smiling as she went to bite into the slice, only to turn her head and snicker.

"Believe me, you're my first," she replied, putting a hand to her heart and tilting her head towards him, making him chuckle as he ate. She let gravity take hold of her body as soon as she was near the couch, and dropped tiredly onto it, sitting her back against the arm rest and curling her legs up to her chest.

Mikey followed suit, dropping down onto his seat and smiling at her. Suddenly, a thought occurred to him, and he sat the plate on the coffee table. "How long was I knocked out?"

Shiloh paused, thinking, before placing her own plate down. "Uh...about two hours? Took ages to clean your cuts, believe me."

He choked on his food. "Two hours!? It's two am!?" His eyes went wide with horror and he jumped to his feet, and almost instantly, Shiloh produced his coat from over the chair. He was so horrified at how long he'd stayed there, he didn't think to ask her what she was doing at midnight in new york.

Practically sprinting to the window, he tugged on the coat. "Uh, thanks dudette! I'll see you later!" he yelled, before practically throwing his body through the window and down the fire escape, leaving Shiloh to blink in wonder at the open window.

By the time Mikey had thrown himself through the turnstiles, it's later than he's ever returned home by himself. So he isn't surprised to see another figure in the main part of the lair, though he's a bit surprised when his Sensei straightens from where he'd been reading, picking the glasses from his nose with a clawed finger.

"Michelangelo," he warns softly, before bringing himself from the pit and joining his son at the turnstiles. But he didn't grab his shoulders and turn him to see the cuts along his skin, as Mikey thought, but turned him towards the dojo. Mikey followed silently.

Upon entering, Mikey breathed deeply, out of habit and respect for entering a room that housed years of training and talks and brotherly moments. The lone fact of that sent a shiver across his bones, before his eyes opened and he found his sensei sitting on the floor, legs bent beneath him.

Mikey sat in front of him silently, his body bare of the winter coat which he'd shed outside, laying against the turnstiles. His head bent downwards in respect, when the soft voice addressed him. "Is there something you wish to share, my son?"

"I..." Mikey had never been at a loss for words, so this was new territory to discover. His hands curled on his knees, and his breath caught in his throat, before a large puff escaped him. "I got hurt sensei...and someone helped me."

His sensei raised an eyebrow. The wizened rat's attention was now at full. "Who was this?"

"A girl. I...helped her, a few weeks ago, against some purple dragons," he spat out, trying to get his sensei to understand why and how these actions had melted together. His sensei nodded. Mikey had been told never to let anyone know of their existence, to never jeopardize their lives to the extent that it could endanger all of their lives. That humans could be cruel, and non-understanding creatures that walked the concrete world over their heads. Mikey hoped Shiloh was different, like the friends he and his brothers had already met.

"S_-_She helped me, as a thank you I think. I don't think she's bad, but, I don't..." he didn't know why he was so confused, as a teenager, he'd been eager to make friends. To have someone to communicate with other than his family. And the chance had come, with April O'neil and Casey Jones, and a few select people, some even mutants themselves. But Mikey wanted his own friend, someone his brothers couldn't use or bother. He'd lost that after the betrayal of someone he'd believed to be a friend. He looks up, almost desperate. "Sensei, all humans can't be bad, right? I mean, April and Casey, a_-_and her friends..."

His sensei seemed to ponder this, a thick clawed hand coming to tug at his twisted beard. His jaw sets firm, as he thinks over his sons words. "Michelangelo, in the past years, we have received kindness I could not have fathomed for this family. So, I don't believe all humans can be bad, even if I was one. But you must watch your step, because one taken wrong and the world could disappear beneath your feet, my son."

He helps his sensei to his feet, and Mikey feels a grin split his lips. And he knows his sensei realizes how happy he's made him with his words. When Master Splinter closes the door to his room, Mikey sighs. He's relieved to have the small secret off his chest, even if it wasn't much of a secret. At least, not yet.


End file.
